


See Ya, Chump

by crescentjack



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Peter is a Little Shit, Someone help Peter, Tony Stark Is Getting Grey Hairs, Venom AU!, bc of Venom this time, in the MCU - Freeform, set after Homecoming and before Infinity War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29493615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentjack/pseuds/crescentjack
Summary: “Isn’t the Bugle mean?”“They hate Spider-Man.”Tony chokes.“Oh yeah. Like- loathe me, Mr Stark. I think they want me in jail.”——-Pre Infinity War Peter meets Eddie Brock and his Parasite
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. Eddie Brock

“So let me get this straight- you get paid for taking pictures of yourself swinging through skyscrapers-“

“Yup.”

“In arachnid inspired pajamas-“

“Uh-huh.” 

“And- again- _you get paid?_ ” 

“Already confirmed it and it’s still a yes.” Peter Parker grins smugly, flicking his fork out and sending a piece of lasagna splattering on the desk. 

Tony lets out a long whistle, flabbergasted. Impressed. But flabbergasted. Shaking his head, he lets out a guffaw. Of course the kid would come up with a concept as obscure and sly as taking glorified selfies for money without breaking any moral codes. He’s pulling the most brilliant get-rich-quick scheme Tony’s heard of, and Tonys a millionaire. 

Peter came into Tony’s workshop ten minutes prior, and announced the fact he had a somewhat steady deal with the Daily Bugle. He brings in clear photos of Spider-Man, and they pay him probably the bare minimum they can, completely oblivious to the irony of it all. 

“Go on,” Tony humours him, “How much are you getting?” 

“Not much,” Peter says, focusing hard on the food in front of him. “But it helps, I guess.” 

Tony’s impressed, if only a little concerned at how long Peter can grapple excuses for how he’s always in Spider-man’s one meter radius. 

“Spider-Man’s making headlines a lot, huh? I should’ve thought of that.” Tony hums. 

Peter snorts, “Famous millionaire Tony Starks rewarded with ten bucks for catching a backflip on camera-“ 

“Maybe even an interview.” 

“Nah. Spider-Man’s super busy. Wouldn't happen.” 

“What, you’re his secretary too now? As well as his personal photographer?” 

Peter cackles around a mouthful of food and continues tinkering with a handful of wires, movements precise and thoughtful despite the conversation. “I don’t know if it’ll last past summer, but it’s good enough for me. And it's an experience.” 

Tony almost reminds Peter of the fact he's literally stood in the one and only Stark workshop, in a so called internship, and with or without the spandex suit, that’s definitely enough to get noticed on a job application. 

But the kid deserves something mundane. Something normal like a part time job against a tide of responsibility. Something Tony’s way past and he knows most other Avengers are too. A small perk to having his civilian side unknown.

Instead, he says, “Sure is. Isn’t the Bugle mean?”

“They hate Spider-Man.”

Tony chokes. 

“Oh yeah. Like- _loathe_ me, Mr Stark. I think they want me in jail.”

Tony stares. Peter scoops up some more lasagna happily. 

This kid. Tony barks out a laugh. “Take it back a bit. Grab the reins. Reel it in. They hate you? They hate you and you’re feeding them like baby piglets?”

“They hate Spider-Man not me.”

“Pete I really hate to break it to you but you are Spider-Man-“

“They pay me so who’s the real winner.”

Tony grunts. A you’re-so-right but I’m-trying-to-be-a-responsible-adult grunt. 

Peter notices his sudden lack of enthusiasm and jabs a finger his way, “And they’d be insulting me with or without the selfies, so.” 

“I hate how smart you are.” 

Peter grins. “No you don’t.” 

“No I don’t.”

They spend the afternoon tinkering with Peter's suit, patching it up and giving Karen a short test run. Afterwards, Peter finds a way to prompt Tony into opening up about his current project, which is of course the Iron Man get up in all of her sleek glory. 

Tony’s mind is elsewhere as they work, and he’s tugging off a suit's chest place with a lack of grace when he speaks up, “Hey, Kid?” 

“Yeah?”

“You know if you ever need money, that’s kinda my forte, right? Just say the word.”

The look Peter gives him knocks him a little- like a physical blow to his chest. 

His face is lax and complete with a small smile. Completely understanding and trusting, “I know, Mr Stark.” _But no thank you._

Tony blinks. Then nods stiffly. Peter has a habit of taking him completely by surprise- purely by his sheer amount of responsibility and selflessness the kid can fit in between all his raw nerd intellect. 

The complete opposite of what Tony was at his age.

He clears his throat, “Time to pack up, kid. It’s getting dark out and you know Happy turns into a monster in the moonlight.” 

“I get a free lift home?”

Tony stares at him. “Only if you’re done within the next thirty seconds.”

Peter knocks over six wires and a chunk of iron man plating in his mad rush. 

——- 

It’s foggy and dark by the time Peter makes it to the narrow roads home. He’d offered to walk the rest of the way when traffic meant they moved an inch per hour, and Happy seemed relieved to escape the queues. 

It was a short walk, and it wasn’t like Peter couldn’t protect himself. He fiddles with his rucksack straps as he walks along, shooting May a text to reassure her he’d be home shortly. 

The weight of his Spider-Man suit is a reassuring one from where it sits on his back, and five minutes into walking, his ears ring. 

An angry yell sounds out as Peter’s hairs stand on end, and he’s pouncing over to the source before he can really contemplate what's happening. 

He’s not wearing his suit, and there’s no time to change, so he skids into the alleyway feeling as exposed as a turtle without a shell. 

A man pushes someone roughly face first into the wall, holding him there, and Peter grits his teeth, “Hey!”

He sometimes reminds himself of a firework, without his mask. The ones that take way too long to light and a single spark pops and then instantly fizzles out and everyone looks slightly confused and disappointed with a pinch of annoyance. 

Which is absolutely how the mugger looks when he spots him. “Back off, kid. This isn’t about you.” 

“I know but I just can’t help myself.” 

Thankfully, the mugger drops his victim then, who lands in a slump, and turns his attention fully on Peter. He stalks forward, looking ready to make him one with the pavement, and Peter contemplates. 

He doesn’t really have his suit, but that doesn’t mean he can’t just-

He waits until the mugger barges him, then twists his body and sticks his arm out- switching the momentum and sending him smacking into the ground. 

He hits hard, and Peter hears him gasp as the blow winds him.

The mugger croaks, but Peter doesn’t wait, “There’s a police car around the corner.”

“Liar.” 

“You think it’s worth the risk?” Peter asks levelly. 

The mugger spits, shoots a glare. For a brief moment, it looks like he’s about to try again- get up and keep fighting. Then he scrambles to his feet and out of the alleyway, a tracker planted on the back of his jacket. 

With a whistle, Peter spins on his heels. 

The victim, a man roughly to be in his 20s, maybe 30s, sits trembling on the floor. He’s pale- his skin clammy and dripping and he doesn’t acknowledge Peter's presence, even when he steps closer. 

“Hey, man, are you alright?” 

At a lack of response, Peter feels a sway of uneasiness. He crouches, and the man flinches, awareness creeping into his expression. 

Peter starts, “Mr Brock?”

Suddenly he’s glad for his lack of mask, unable to hold back the name on his tongue. 

Eddie Brock, he’s sure of it, a fellow photographer for the Daily Bugle. He’d only heard about him up until a week ago, where he’d seen him in the office. His confidence was unnerving, he seemed a decent guy. Everyone in the place had heard his name and everyone had a strong opinion- whether it be good or bad. 

On the floor, a phone he presumes is Eddie’s, is smashed and scattered. Peter scoops up what he can and offers it to him, “I think this is yours-“

Colour returns to his face gradually, and then quickly, “Damn.” Eddie grunts. 

“I hope it’s insured.” Peter tries meekly. 

“ _Damn_.” Eddie grits out. His face is pinched as he pushes himself up. 

“Wait, wait- are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” He looks over his phone, or the corpse of it, and crams it in his pocket, brows furrowed. 

“Do you need anything?” 

“Nope. Peter, right?” 

Bad timing, he knows, but Peter can’t help feel a little accomplished. He laughs weakly, “Right.”

“Peter. Cool. Thanks for the help. Seriously. That was great.” He rubs his hands together against the cold, looking everywhere but where Peter stands, “I have to go.” 

Peter stares. Finally stops trailing after him when the taller man pulls up his hood and stalks back onto the streets, waving his hand around for a taxi. 

The wind picks up, sending a shiver up Peters back, and he clambers his way up a building when he’s sure no ones around. Feeling somewhat clumsy, he starts changing.

He has to catch the mugger. First things first, he’ll get that out of the way- then what? Keep an eye on Eddie? Is that weird? 

He’ll check in on him, maybe, at work. 

He’s glad for the heaters in his suit, the night took an unexpected chill and tiredness has already made his bones achy and numb. 

“Hey, Karen.” 

“Hello, Peter, how was your day?” 

“I placed a tracker on a dude. Think you can give me directions?” He asks. 

“Sure thing. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Uh. Tell May I’m gonna be late for dinner.”


	2. Venom

After webbing up the mugger and leaving him outside the station, Peter finds help where he really didn’t expect it. He stands in line at a local store, and the cashier greets him with a breathy gasp and shaking hands. “Spidey!”

“Hi,” Peter fumbles, slipping a newspaper on the till. 

“I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” Peter snorts slightly, embarrassment flushing over him in waves.

The cashier looks down, then pushes the newspaper back into Peter's chest, “It’s free dude- take it. The Bugle though- they’re not so good-“

Peter isn’t dumb to the obvious slander to Spider-Man on the front page. The insults are so sharp they read like solid punches. He waves a hand dismissively, then, “I can take it. Are you sure? The suit may not look like it, but I have change-“ 

“It’s yours.” She grins, and tosses him a snack bar, too, on his way out. 

So he swings. Crunching on the snack bar whilst flipping through the pages. It only takes about a minute to find Eddie and whatever he’s been up to. He feels a small pout of wariness wash over him- so much so he almost crashes straight into a building. 

He catches himself, breathes, then clambers up to perch on a balcony. His fingers smoothes over the paper as he reads, grooves in his gloves bumping. Eddie has columns upon columns of slander against the company— all expertly hidden between quips and teases. Peter can hear his tone even as letters on a sheet- he’s confident and assured with facts and he has reputation. A following.

All things that make you powerful enough to create an army of doubtful minds, at whatever it is Eddie chooses. 

In this case, Oscorp. 

Although the article drips with scorn, Peter realises there’s not much he can actually do until he checks it out himself. There’s no obvious event that has led Eddie to lead an attack so ferociously- so Peter figures it’s either JJ’s idea, or something more is going on. 

Earlier, Eddie’s zoned out and fever state reminds Peter of himself, back when he got bitten by a radioactive spider and everything changed. 

“Research.” Peter decides. “Research first, breaking and entering into Oscorp second.”

“Excellent strategy, Peter.” Karen says.

Except Peters not sure if it is. His senses have been awkwardly dull and quiet all night- and usually he’d praise such a rare occasion. Tonight, he feels tired and confused. 

A couple of minutes later, he’s swinging back into his room. He’s greeted by silence, and it’s only when he goes into the living room and sees May passed out on the couch he realises why. His lips quirk, and he pulls a blanket over her shoulders before heading to his own bed. 

——-

“Oscorp?” Ned yells. 

“Ned, shh,” Peter huffs, then, equally loud, “Right?” 

“That’s so cool. Isn’t that where the…?”

“Mhm. Spider.” 

“That’s so cool.” 

“I know,” Peter breathes out, fiddling with his pen, tapping it on the desk. “But it’s weird. I don’t know. I have no idea if there’s even a link there but I have like- a feeling.” 

“Spider sense?” 

“No just- a feeling-“

Ned slaps his leg under the table, and before he can huff, he spots MJ slouching over to them. 

His chest stutters in that obvious way it does, “Hey,” He sputters out. 

“Hey dorks.” She responds, grabbing a seat and flipping it around to sit on. She rests her chin on her crossed arms. “Whatcha doing?”

“Peter was-“ Ned starts.

“Nothing much.” Peter interrupts, nudging him right back. 

“Uh-huh.” MJ starts, she tugs her hood up against the shouts in the classroom. It’s lunch, and half the class decided to hold back and catch up on work simultaneously. 

MJ scowls as she cracks open her lunchbox, nose crinkling, “I’m hanging with you guys, your conversations amuse me.” 

“We just talk about -“ Ned starts. 

“Junk,” Peter finishes, flashing him a look.

MJ stuffs a sandwich into her mouth and grins, “Exactly. Not a single thought passes through your little minds.” 

Ned stares at her. “Youre so mean.” 

“I could be meaner.”

“Try it.”

An extra loud yell sounds above the rest- Flash. Ned and MJ have begun comparing what they got in the test math quiz yesterday. Peter's arms fold over the desk.

He doesn’t contribute, because he was absent from school yesterday. His grades are dropping- a change so slight he’s sure only himself and teachers have noticed. It reminds him of last year- of Toomes. 

Another yell. Peter flinches, then clicks his pen several times to bring himself back to the land of the living. 

MJ eyes the movement, concern smoothing her expression. It’s gone as quick as it appeared, then she straightens in her seat, twisting towards Flash. “Hey!”

Flash looks back, features a little pinched from the distraction. A crowd surrounds him and his phone, “What?” 

“Turn it down.” 

“Are you kidding? I-“ He cuts himself off, and the choir of kids around him let out a ‘Ooooo’, grappling over each other to look at the screen.

“Hey,” Ned offers, he’s already connected the dots and got the news on his phone. He props it up on the table, against a pencil case so Peter and MJ can watch too. 

“What the hell,” MJ and Peter whisper simultaneously.

The news shows a shaky report of one of the weirdest things Peter has ever seen. Tearing up the street is a humanoid beast. It’s huge, dripping black masses of ink and snarling. It’s jaw snaps audibly, even through the shaky hand held camera- and people scatter from the scene with shrieks that crackle the audio. 

He needs to go.

Ned and Peter share a knowing look, and Ned clears his throat, “Peter, don’t you have that- thing. That- dentist appointment?”

Peter takes the hint faster than a cat on a mouse.

“Oh! Yes- I- Oh shoot, I should go. Darn- fillings.” He slaps a palm to his forehead, he laughs out a strained laugh and trips over his chair on the way out. 

He tries to ignore the way MJ’s eyes narrow as they follow him out the door. 

——

He’s in his red and blue suit and shooting down roads before he can worry too much about missing the rest of school. 

Karen informs him, sounding amused as an AI can, “Your Guy In The Chair is calling you.” 

“Hey Ned,” Peter huffs, “Is MJ there?”

“No, no, I’m in the bathroom,” Neds hushed tone comes through, “It’s calling itself Venom.”

“Huh?” 

“Venom. That’s its name. Dude, you could totally make a brand new nemesis here- Like, the Joker to Batman. Darth Vader to Luke-“ 

Peter can hear the panicked yells down on the street below. His arms burn from pulling down web after web, keeping up the momentum and speed. 

“Ned-“

“Scar to Mufasa! No- that ones kinda lame, I-“

There’s smoke, a cluster of cars jammed together and abandoned.

“I have to go -“ 

Karen ends the call without Peter asking her to.

He lands behind the creature, who’s grumbling inhuman sounds and flexing its claws. Peter clears his throat. It whirls, staring back at him with glossy eyes and Peter's throat tightens. 

He looks strong- stronger than he did on a shaky phone camera on a tiny monitor. 

“Venom, right?”

“Don’t have time for this,” The humanoid grumbles, voice low, his hands flex and he grabs a car, hurtling it in Peter's direction like a dog toy.

Peter lurches- goes up and dodges the car, holding his breath as he lands, “There’s nicer ways to greet people. Maybe we could-“

Venom's fist connects with his jaw, and Peter's vision swims white. 

Shock rolls through him faster than the pain of it, mind reeling to catch up. And he’s too slow- maybe out of his league. A swing to his ribs sounds a crack through the air, and he smacks through a shop window. 

Distantly, he feels guilt tumbling through him at that, and he gargles a, “Sorry,” Around a swollen tongue. He must have bitten it at some point, he realises numbly. 

When he’s back up and tumbling out of the shop, Venom stares back at him with a keen sense of surprise. 

Peter plants his hands on his hips, “Again, nicer ways.” 

“You're strong.” Venom drops- down onto all fours. He looks more like an animal now. “Stronger than other people.” 

“You're making me blush.” Peter scans behind his mask, looking for anyone who might be caught in the crossfire, but the majority of the surroundings are empty. People must’ve scattered somewhere in between Venom picking up a car and Peter shattering a window. 

“What’s your secret?” 

“Protein shakes, they’re super tasty too. Why are you doing this?” 

Venom bristles- his skin rippling and moving and twisting. “Doing what?”

“Causing a scene, altogether public disturbance, throwing cars, possibly drunk driving, I dunno,” Peter counts them off on his finger, “So what- Why? What are you after?”

“You'll do.” Venom says, then leaps. 

Peter lets out a, frankly, embarrassing yelp, and flips back. Venom keeps slashing, throwing his claws and teeth and legs around and Peter dodges. Left, right, up, knees buckle to go low. 

He’s fast. Probably the fastest threat Peters ever faced but something more- something’s off. The unknown fear catches in his throat and makes his movements sloppy.

“Most people have a really badass motive like - trying to impress their true love.”

Venom kicks, and when Peter stumbles his claws flash. Peter doesn’t feel anything but a dull ache when they rake through his suit, through his arm. He feels the tear of muscle, and his adrenaline swallows it down.

Peter changes tactics. 

He rolls to get some space between them, then stands back, shoots a web to a roof and kicks Venom back with the momentum of it. He hears a raging yowl for his efforts, and hears him scaling up behind him when he breaks for the roof. 

As soon as his hands grapple for purchase, Venom tackles him. They tumble forward- and when Venom throws a punch, this time, Peter catches it. The strain of holding his strength back burns- ricochets through his shoulders until his spine caves and his blood flares. He grits his teeth and pushes, heaves, and Venom kicks out. 

When they break apart, they’re a reflection of each other. Hunched and predatory. 

“You're strong.” 

“You mentioned that.” Peter grunts between pants. 

Venom watches him, then, “We could be strong together.” 

“You mean team up?” Peter heaves out, “Then why’d you attack?” 

“Not like team up.” 

Peter scrunches his face. Under his mask, sweat and drowsiness makes it hard for him to concentrate. He hopes the tremble in his knees isn’t obvious. “You lost me. You lost me- take it back, ten minutes ago when you threw a car.”

Venom clicks, tongue twisting impatiently. 

Then he pounces. Cat at mouse. 

Peter doesn’t notice- he’s been working off instinct but his instinct is gone. His senses- that's what’s wrong- they’ve been achingly silent this entire time. His dismay is probably his downfall.

Literal downfall.

They roll off the edge of the building, and Venom clings to Peter before he can breathe- before he can shoot a web out.

They hit the ground, and Peter sees black. 

——

“Kid. Hey. You’re alright- easy.”

Peter jostles, the movement making an ache crawl through his arm. “Oh-Hey man.” 

Tony lingers above him. For a second, it doesn’t register to Peter how bizarre that fact is. Then his eyes snap open, wide, and he sits up. “What happened?”

“Easy,” Tony says again, sticking a hand to Peter’s chest. “You took a tumble.” 

“The roof- Venom-“

“I don’t see you for one day and you’ve made connections with xenomorphs. How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” Peter grunts, he tugs his mask up, using the opportunity to suck in clean air and breathe. 

Tony’s expression softens. He must look rough. “Alright enough to walk?”

“Yeah. Yeah. How did you-? When did you?” 

“Karen gave me an update. I made it before the press. Let’s patch you up, Humpty Dumpty.” 

He stands- offering Peter a hand which he takes stiffly. Confusion rattles in his brain, and for a brief moment he wonders if he’s concussed. “Where did he go?”

“Your new friend? Scattered when I arrived.”

Peter tries to not feel disgruntled at that fact, he lets out a dramatic groan. “This was stupid.” 

“We all have our fair shares of ass-beaten-by-new-guy, don’t sweat it, kid.”

He nods, glancing down the alley behind Tony like Venom will come crawling out the shadows. He doesn’t have his senses, and he’s not sure if that’s permanent or an effect of his new rival- but he doesn’t want to chance that- losing them makes him feel lost. Vulnerable even. He glances up. 

Clouds overhead. It’s going to rain. 

“-ey. _Pete.”_

Peter looks to Tony, and his gaze is grounding. At some point, his hands have landed on his shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?” 

Peter nods, “I’m okay. Is Happy waiting?”

“The one and only. FRIDAY, scan for-“

“I’m okay,” Peter says, this time more confidently. “My suit needs repairs.” 

“You first.”

The drive to the tower is uneventful. Mainly because Peter falls somewhere between daydreaming and slumber on the journey- feeling a pang of embarrassment when Tony catches him drifting. 

The tower’s empty and quiet when they arrive, and Peter feels a familiar sense of comfort nonetheless. 

Over the years he's accumulated a lot of positive memories from the place. Mainly from the workshop, but more than that. Eating takeout, inside jokes with Pepper, watching movies. 

The window in the living room hangs over the city, and Peter loves it. The orange from the sky paints the carpet and walls when he follows Tony inside. 

He gestures to the couch and Peter, exhausted, doesn’t protest. He drops into a free space between cushions and looks up when Tony returns with a med kit. 

“Haven't done this in awhile.”

“I’m just super good at dodging bullets but apparently not monster claws, yet.” Peter pries open the material on his upper arm, where it’s ripped and stiff with blood. The wound has mostly sealed.

“Jesus,” Tony grunts. “It got you good.” 

“It looks worse than it is.” 

“You’d say that if you were missing a leg.” 

Peter shrugs, then grits his teeth when Tony sets to cleaning the wound. It’s a quick progress, after his arm the only things that remain are bruises and aching muscles that Peter throws some painkillers back for. 

Not that the painkillers are effective for long.

He must fall asleep, because he wakes up with a dreary heaviness that only blossoms with deep slumber. It’s light out, early, and Peter groans and rubs his eyes. 

There’s a blanket sprawled across him from where he’s slumped on the cough and he stretches out. 

“Hey, FRIDAY?” 

“Hello, Peter.” Comes the familiar tone. 

“Where's Tony?”

“Currently taking a call in the kitchen.” 

“Thank you,” He whistles out, slipping from his spot and scooping up a fresh pile of clothes left for him too. 

After a quick change, he slides into the kitchen and sure enough, Tony’s there. He waves, and Peter waves back before perching himself on the island seat. 

Tony’s deadpan expression and the crackly conversation through the phone makes him snort. 

“Idiots,” Tony flops over the counter as soon as the call ends. He reaches out, grabs an apple and tosses it to Peter. “I hate adulting.” 

“Nursing homes are accepting.” Peter grins, taking a bite.

“Har har, Parker. Laugh it up, in five years you’ll be in the same boat. Bad back, bad eyes, no bladder control-“

“Five years?”

“Never get a job. They exhaust you.” Tony scowls.

“Too late.” Peter grins around his mouthful of food, then sudden realisation. “Oh _fu-“_

“Language.” 

“I gotta go - I’m meant to be meeting my _boss_ , shit,” 

“Language. Hey, FRIDAY, tell Happy we need his golden chariot, life or death. Kids got selfies to promote.” 

“May-?” 

“Already messaged her last night.”

“The suit?” 

“I can handle it. I’ll patch her up, drop it off later.”

“You're the best, dude, you’re amazing.”

Tony ushers him out, gesturing. “You don’t have to tell me that. Go.” 

——

Peter fumbles around his notepad, trailing after Jonahs as they stalk through the offices.

Like usual, the place is teeming with people working and tapping and deciding on selling points. Peter ducks and leans to avoid the heavy stream of people working together to compile the next issue of the Daily Bugle. 

Jonah, like usual, has his bushy brows furrowed and scowl prominent. “How should I know where Eddie is? I fired him.” 

“Fired?” Peter chokes. 

“What, you miss him?” Jonas barks out, slapping a piece of paper into Peter's arms. 

Peter scrambles to grip it, slipping it on top of his book to check out later. “What did he do?”

“I thought you were a photographer son, not an interviewer.”

“Sorry, I just-“

“I need coffee. I sent someone for coffee. Who was that-“

A woman pokes her head in the office, voice level and somehow still clear over the blaring of phones ringing. “Simon, sir, it’s been thirty three seconds.”

“Thirty three seconds too long. Parker.” 

“Yes, sir?”

“Why are you still here?” 

“Sorry, sir,” He croaks out, slipping out of his office and faltering. 

If Eddie was fired, and Jonas is stubborn, he has other ways. He asks around the office, one at a time to find out what he can. 

——

“Eddie was way too obsessed with Oscorp. Demanding justice and acting completely weird all the time,” A girl says, tying her hair up and avoiding eye contact.

——

“Eddie being fired was a long time coming. He was the only one that talked back to Jonah.” A man says, not looking up from his desk.

——

“Eddie? The man’s a loose canon. He broke into Oscorp basically every weekend and found a bunch of weird stuff. There’s photos, somewhere. I’m pretty sure only the boss has seen ‘em.”

——

“He got what he deserved.”

——

“I’m worried about him.” A woman tells Peter.

Peter nods quietly, not wanting to pry but instead comfort. He exchanges small talk with her, and then heads to the exit. Out of habit, he almost talks to Karen. 

A dishevelled man, passes him. Simon, he realises. Coffee and all, he trips forward. Peter ducks, catching the cup before it can splash and the strangers face blooms with unbridled relief and surprise. “Thank God- you’re a life saver.” 

Peter falters and blinks as he hands the cup back over, then grins. Silently, he welcomes back his senses as he heads out. 


End file.
